Sing a Few Bars, I'll Get It
by bethchilds34
Summary: Not a songfic! What if Tony and Ziva knew each other as teens? What if Eli wasn't the perfect father he thought he was. Not a sequel to What Happens in High School. T for now, but rating may go up. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: You guys missed me, didn't you! So here I am, back with another fic while still in the process of writing countless others. I know, I know, I should really finish what I start, but this idea randomly popped into my head and I had to write it down. It took me all of an hour to write down and a little longer to type it all, but here it is.**

**So, say Ziva moved to the US with her father after her mother and Tali died and she and Tony became friends. What if Eli was abusive? No, this is not, nor will it be, a sequel to What Happens in High School. The rating will tentatively stay T for the time being, but please tell me whether or not I should move it up. It will be as non-graphic as possible, but abuse is mentioned.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to CBS and DPB. I do own this story line.**

It was a few weeks ago when I noticed them. Just a few bruises on her upper arm. When I asked her how she'd gotten them, she pulled down her shirt sleeve to where it had been before accidentally riding up and said they were nothing. She claimed to have gotten them by bumping into something and I let the matter drop, knowing, or thinking rather, that Ziva would never lie to me. I'd known Ziva for a few months, since she'd started school here after moving with her father from Israel.

She'd seemed almost miserable at first and, when I'd gotten to know her and she'd told me the story of why she'd moved here, I couldn't blame her. Her mother and sister had died and her father felt it necessary to get Ziva out of Israel so that she did not suffer the same fate. The two of us had become friends after that and I told her my story too, how my mother died when I was younger and my father just stopped caring about me. He was barely around, always flying off to God knows where, being gone more than he was ever around. He'd given me his car on the day I'd gotten my license, telling me he needed a new one anyway and not to kill myself. As long as I listened, he'd pay the insurance. It kept me out of his hair.

Ziva and I started hanging out both in and out of school, whether it was at the library doing homework or at my house or whatever. Since I had a car, it was easy to get around and her dad never seemed to care either.

After seeing the bruises and having her write them off as nothing, I almost forgot about the little incident. Almost. I was a new bruise a few days later, below her elbow this time, on her other arm. Then, today, when she'd reached up to get a book of a higher shelf in the library and her shirt had ridden up, I saw bruising along her lower back, both old and new, which I could tell because of the multitude of colors.

When we left the library, put our bags in the backseat and were both seated in the front, doors closed, and the car still off, I decided to breach the subject. I knew something was wrong and I had to know what.

"Ziva?" I said, but it came out more as a question.

"Yes, Tony?" she asked, not knowing what was coming next and how it would affect either of us.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked her, dipping my toes in rather than plunging in all at once.

"No, there is nothing," she said, calmly as if I'd asked her about the weather.

"If there ever was something wrong, you'd tell me, right? Like, if something was bothering you or something like that. You know you can tell me anything, right?" I asked her, knowing that she knew that, but wanting to hear her say that to me.

"Yes, Tony, I know I can trust you and I would. I _do_. What is this about?" she asked me.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, pointing to the bruise on her left arm by her elbow.

Ziva drew her arm from the console in the car between us and put it so it was resting in her lap. "It is nothing. I hit it on my locker," she told me, the calmness from her voice partially gone.

"And the ones on your back?" I asked. She looked up at me when I said that and her eyes betrayed her emotions. She looked scared. She didn't answer. "Ziva?" I asked, quietly and as gently as I could.

"When did you see them? How?" she asked.

"You reached up to get a book in the library earlier and I saw them. Ziva, where did you get them?" I asked her. I saw her eyes fill up with tears before she looked away from me again and my eyes were stinging too. It hurt me to see her hurting and I wanted to reach out and take her hand to let her know that I was there, but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed.

"My father," were the only two words she could say before she broke down. That was when I reached over and gently lay my hand over hers. She didn't push me away and I took that as a sign that she was letting me in, was willing to let me help.

I moved so I was sitting on the console between us to shorten the distance and tenderly wrapped my arms around her. She leaned into me and I let her cry it out as I stroked her hair and drew small circles on her back and let a few of my own tears fall in the process. I couldn't understand how anyone could do that, least of all a parent to their only living child. My father wasn't exactly father of the year either, but the man had never laid a hand on me.

A while later, when Ziva had stopped crying, but neither of us had moved, I asked, "What can I do?"

"There is nothing you can do," she told me.

"Ziva, you can't stay with him. It's not safe," I tried to reason with her.

"Tony, I have nowhere else to go," she said.

"Come with me. Stay with me," I said.

"If I do that, he will only get angrier. He will tell the police that I have been kidnapped, you will get arrested, and I will never be able to leave him," she told me, telling me what I already knew but didn't want to believe. I just wanted her to be safe.

"Then we'll tell the police what's going on. People do not look highly at abuse, never mind child abuse," I offered.

"Where will I go when he gets taken away? And what will I do when he gets out? Tony, I know you want to help, but you cannot right now," she said.

I sighed and slipped back into my seat, holding just her hand now. "I'm so sorry," I told her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said. "I think I should probably be getting home soon."

"Yeah," I said, fishing my keys out of my pocket and starting the car.

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the North end of town, where Ziva lived. I lived on the West end, about fifteen minutes away. Even though her house wasn't exactly on the way to school, I picked her up every morning and dropped her off whenever we were done hanging out every afternoon.

Today, knowing the truth of what she went home to everyday, I didn't want to drop her off where that monster would hurt her, but I didn't have a choice. We drove to her house, holding hands the whole way.

When I pulled up in front of her house twenty minutes later, I got out of the car when she did and got her bag from the back seat for her. I gave her a tight hug, holding her as close as I could, promising to see her tomorrow morning at seven sharp and told her to be careful. She hugged me back and told me she would.

Driving off that day was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

**A/N: Okay, so it was a short chapter, but I wasn't sure if people would like it. Please review and tell me if I should continue, or just leave well enough alone and not write anymore. Hey, did anyone like the title? Know where it's from? **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm back with chapter two! I don't really have much to say other than the fact that NCIS tonight (3/29/11), Tell-All, was amazing! I sat there laughing for at least half of it! great stuff. I won't give anything away, but let's just say that I loved it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated with it. That sole joy belongs to DPB and CBS. I do, however, own this story line and any characters I choose to make up.**

-break-

When I got home, the house was empty, go figure. It almost always was. Dad left me money so that I could get food and stuff if he was going to be gone for longer than a few days, which was almost always. Surprisingly enough, it's really easy to get sick of take-out food, so I taught myself some basic things that I could cook: pasta, macaroni and cheese, and grilled cheese. I knew none of my other friends knew how to cook any of this stuff, even though it was basic and pretty easy. They all relied on their parents to do everything for them. Chances are they didn't know how to even work the washing machine.

When dad first started going away, I was thirteen; it was a few years after my mom had died. He'd told me he was going away for the weekend and to be good and he'd see me on Sunday night, Monday at the latest. He hadn't been home until Wednesday and I'd lived off of cereal, toast, and frozen food. That was when I began to hate him. A few weeks later, he left again, this time leaving me some money for food and whatever else. I was careful with it, spending as little as possible, not knowing when he'd be back.

That was how I lived since then. I'd gotten used to the silence, always keeping a radio or TV on when I was home. At first, I'd been scared of the noises the house made and was careful to triple-check all the locks on the doors and windows. Now I checked them once and gave up. There wasn't much to steal here anyway.

Nobody ever knew that I'd been on my own. I never told anyone, never had friends over, instead going to their houses. Their moms would say that I looked too thin and always invited me to stay for dinner. When they'd drop me off at home, I'd just tell them that my dad wasn't home yet and yes, I had my key and not to worry, I'd be fine until then.

When I met the friends that I have now, Kate, Abby, and Tim, I'd told them, completely accidentally, that my dad was never home and I pretty much lived on my own, they didn't think I was a freak. They invited me over when they wanted to hang out and they didn't take pity on me, something I never wanted. Abby told me that she worried about me all the time, but I was alright. I'd held out on telling them for years, but with Ziva, I'd told her after only a few weeks of knowing her. She was definitely different.

I think the main reason I told her was because we were both in situations we couldn't escape from and didn't enjoy. Sure, living on my own had its perks, like not having someone yell at me to do this or that, and it made me stronger, but it had taken my childhood. At thirteen, I was still just a kid, depended on my father to do stuff. But I taught myself how to do everything. I fixed things when they broke. I did really well in school because it would get me into a good college. But there were never any thanks.

I sat down in the living room with a sandwich that I made for myself and turned the TV on. Ziva and I had finished our homework at the library, like we did almost every day, so I didn't have to worry about it. She was the one who had suggested that we do our homework in the library the first day I mentioned that I didn't really want to go home and the tradition stemmed from there. She said she felt the same way so we might as well hang out together and who was I to complain? Ziva was funny, beautiful, and messed up her English a lot and she could have anyone, but she chose me. Abby and Tim would sometimes do homework with us, but mostly it was just the two of us.

In the car this afternoon, I made Ziva promise to call me if her father hit her or did anything and that I'd go pick her up, if only for the day. I couldn't stand the thought of her getting hurt, by her own father nonetheless. I kept my cell phone on me all evening and kept it on loud that night when I went to bed, putting it under the pillow.

-break-

She didn't call, and for that I was grateful. Yes, I wanted to get her out of that house, but he hadn't hurt her, or I assumed he hadn't hurt her because she hadn't called. When I picked her up in the morning, we drove to school holding hands, like we had the afternoon before. I didn't know what changed between the two of us, but it didn't matter.

She let go of my hand, as I knew she would, when we got to school. We walked out of the parking lot together and towards the school and our friends, who we both knew were waiting for us on the second floor by Abby's locker. We hung out for the fifteen minutes before homeroom, Ziva, Abby, Tim, Kate, and I and then Ziva and I walked to our homeroom, which we had together because of our last names, and our friends all walked to their individual homerooms. They were all spread out, though Kate's and Abby's were next to each other.

My first four classes, none of which any of my close friends are in, passed by quickly and then I met Abby in the cafeteria and we put our bags down at our usual table before getting food. By the time we got back, Tim was sitting there waiting. Ziva walked in a few minutes later and sat down next to me and across from Abby, who was sitting as close to Tim as was possible. Everybody thought they were a couple, but they were just really close friends. I wasn't sure Tim was picking up all the hints that Abby was sending his way, but I hoped for his sake that he did soon.

Abby, Tim, and I all had a debate, but Ziva didn't join in like she usually did. Abby noticed and asked her if anything was wrong, but Ziva said she was fine. Her silence killed me for the next ten minutes, so when I had an out, about eight minutes before lunch was supposed to end, I took it.

"Hey, Ziva, I forgot my history book at my house last night. Can I borrow yours?" I asked her. I hadn't even brought my book home last night and Ziva probably knew that, but I needed to talk to her and that was the easiest way.

"Yes, it's in my locker," she said and stood up.

"Sorry to bail early, guys," I said to Abby and Tim, getting up. They said their goodbyes and then went back to the conversation we had been having before.

Ziva had started to walk away and I followed her. Once we were out of the café and were heading up the stairs, I started talking. "Hey, Zee, are you alright? You've been kinda quiet this morning," I said to her, studying her face while simultaneously trying not to fall up or down the stairs.

"Yes, Tony, I am fine," she told me.

"Ziva, this is me you're talking to," I said.

"Yes, I realized that," she said, smiling a little.

"Did he hurt you?" I asked her. I needed to know.

"A little," she confessed. "He came home a bit drunk last night."

I reached out and touched her shoulder. "Why didn't you call me?" I asked her.

"It was late. You would have been asleep. And it was not that bad. It will not bruise horribly," she said.

"Ziva…" I sighed her name. We stopped in the middle of the empty hallway and she turned to look at me. "You promised you'd call. I will _always_ have my phone on me for you. There will never be a time when I'm too busy to come and get you," I told her. "I don't care if it's two thirty in the morning and there's a blizzard outside, I _will _come."

She hugged me like she had yesterday outside her house and I hugged her back. It felt horrible, feeling useless like this. But I knew I'd find a way to save her.

-break-

**A/N: Okay, so, what did you think? Worthy of a review? Should I go on or stop now? Thanks so much for reading guys! If anyone has any suggestions for this or things they wanna see, feel free to leave it in a review or PM me! Thanks guys!**

**Just so everyone knows, this fic isn't being beta-ed because my beta is a bit busy, so any mistakes are 100% my fault. As hard as I try, I know I still mess up every now and again, but hey, I'm only human, right?**


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